Broken Roads
by DarkLightShades
Summary: Short Street Sharks Dinovengers fics prompted by the LiveJournal Community Fanfic100. Genres, pairings and ratings may vary from fic to fic.
1. Complexity

**Title:** Complexity  
**Fandom:** Street Sharks (Dinovengers)  
**Characters:** Streex, Jab, Bends, suggested Ripster/Lena  
**Prompt:** #21 Friends  
**Word Count:** 500  
**Rating:** G  
**Summary:** They gossip worse than schoolgirls when there's nothing better to do.  
**Author's Notes:** Suggested Het, nothing dramatic. ;

"No way."

"Yes way," Streex argued, tapping his foot. "They totally have a thing for each other."

Jab glanced towards the couple in question, then back at his brother, shaking his head. "You're nuts."

"Oh come on!" Streex scowled in frustration, gesturing expressively as though it could help prove his point. "Just look at them."

"I am, and I still say you're just seeing things," Jab retorted, shaking his head. "They're just friends."

"I'm calling for a second opinion." Streex looked over his shoulder, catching a glimpse of a likely target. "Hey Bends!"

Bends hesitated on the threshold between kitchen and living room, precariously balancing a bowl of popcorn in one hand and a soda in the other. With two fearsome mutants staring back at him intently, he made his life-preserving decision, raising his hands to ineffectively ward them off. "Woah. Whatever it is, I'm not taking sides."

Jab smirked with his best _'No one agrees with you therefore I win'_ sentiment, but Streex was undeterred.

"Who said anything about taking a side? Just give us an honest answer about something," Streex wheedled.

Bends looked cautious – understandably so – but didn't immediately make a move to return to his movie. "About what?"

"Them," Streex pointed to where Ripster and Lena were hunched over a small computer screen, talking animatedly and completely oblivious to the speculation across the room. "They're flirting, aren't they?"

"They're talking about the gene-slamming cure," Jab said, mostly for the benefit of Bends who didn't have their enhanced hearing. He made a face. "It's like listening to a recitation of the dictionary."

Bends eyed them for a moment, considering his answer. "You realise anything I say is totally off the record, right? I mean, neither of them would appreciate my own keen insight into what is obviously a very complex relationship."

"Yes, yes, we get it, total confidentiality," Streex assured him breezily. "What do you think?"

"I think you're right. They totally dig each other." Bends grinned sheepishly, throwing an apologetic look at Jab. "Sorry dude."

Jab groaned. "And I think you're both nuts. What part of the advanced gene therapy talk makes you think they're flirting?"

There was subtle movement across the room as Lena turned to show Ripster something of importance on the screen. As the Great White leaned closer he propped a hand on the back of her chair for balance, coincidentally resting his arm across her shoulders. There was a moment of stunned silence from the trio before Bends whooped quietly under his breath and Streex beamed victoriously at Jab.

"I'm sorry, but that looks like proof to me." Streex preened. "Am I good or what?"

The hammerhead scowled. "That so doesn't count."

"What do you want? A marriage proposal? Give them a bit of time."

"Twenty bucks says Lena asks him first," Bends offered.

"I'll take that," Streex said. "Rip's a gentlemen."

Jab gave him a wry look. "You don't have any money, little brother."

Streex grinned jauntily. "I better not lose then."


	2. The Dish of Vengeance

**Title:** The Dish of Vengeance  
**Fandom:** Street Sharks (Dinovengers)  
**Characters:** Repteel-centric. Slash, Slobster, Killimari, Paradigm.  
**Prompt:** #68 Lightening  
**Word Count:** 500  
**Rating:** G  
**Summary:** For all the strengths he gained from Paradigm, it was still his hate that defined him.  
**Author's Notes:** N/A

When Repteel was bored – which was most of the time really – he liked to mess with the lighting system. Sucking on a wire like a child with a strap of licorice he could make the bulbs dim or glow according to his subtle manipulations, and while that was mildly entertaining he had to admit he was growing quite fond of the taste. Electricity was sharp and slightly bitter, like fine coffee, with a texture that was purely indescribable. Real food barely held an interest for him anymore, and considering some of the cravings his eel side tried to impose that was probably for the best.

Of course, his little pastime wasn't well received by the other Seaviants. Slash was the most vocal about it. Being the oldest gave him some small measure of authority. "Stop that! Some of us are trying to read."

Outside of his schemes, Paradigm didn't waste his time keeping his creations occupied which meant for better or for worse they had to amuse themselves. Being a very self-directed individual, Repteel rarely had trouble. Sometimes he was even given the privilege of working in the Doctor's labs where the others were expressly forbidden.

Slash was the only one to have picked up on an intellectual pastime, even if his reading material tended to be mouldy newspapers and whatever he could fish out of dumpsters. While 'intelligence' was an exaggerated description for any of the older seaviants, Slash certainly seemed to have inherited more of it, though most of it was channelled into cunning rather than academics. He was ambitious too, always looking to reclaim his position as the favourite that had been stolen from him twice over now. He was the only one Repteel wouldn't willingly turn his back on.

By contrast, Killimari and Slobster were far more simplistic creatures, with brute force being the only answer to every problem that dared oppose them. On the other hand they were both very aware that the Eel hybrid outclassed them, and were too mindlessly loyal to Paradigm to question the whims of his favourite.

Repteel enjoyed that status. Paradigm's very own success story, having willingly sold his body and soul for a chance at revenge, and before the war was over he was going to have his fair share of chances at it. The Sharks couldn't stay lucky forever, and in the meantime he had the Doctor's benign approval and the awe of his comrades in arms. Stronger, smarter, faster, and far more dangerous than any of them because he understood what it was to really hate, and that taste was even more addictive than electricity.

Enhanced muscles made him strong, high voltage made him dangerous, but hate made him almost invincible, and every time he clashed with the Sharks it got a little bit stronger and consumed his heart a little bit further. He would win, or the rage would overtake him completely, and some days he didn't particularly care which as long as vengeance was wreaked.


	3. Playing Games

**Title:** Playing Games  
**Fandom:** Street Sharks (Dinovengers)  
**Characters:** Manta(Terry)/T-Bone  
**Prompt:** #7 Days  
**Word Count:** 500  
**Rating:** PG for Light slash.  
**Summary:** T-Bone doesn't play pool with Ripster when he wants to compete, and he doesn't play chess with Terry when he wants to strategize.  
**Author's Notes:** Yes I realise the pairing is entirely crack, but it's also deliciously addictive. Don't knock it.

Boredom was their worst enemy in the daylight hours. Not even the Raptors would risk making a move without darkness and confusion to bring doubt to their existence, and so the long hours between dawn and dusk were wasted with anything they could find to fill in the time. T-Bone hated having too much time to think, because his mind always trailed back to wondering how things were going back home, or whether anyone had even noticed they were really missing yet, and those thoughts were always pointlessly circular.

Activity, however mindless, was a better alternative to thinking himself into depression. More often than not he found himself gravitating over to Manta's quiet corner of the mess room, and he didn't know if it was a mark of the Hybrid's own restlessness or the unspoken something the two of them had, but he was never turned away. Where Ripster's game of choice involved pool cues and a large table, Manta's fit nicely into a small checkerboard square.

T-Bone had nothing personal against chess. It was intriguing in its own strange way, with its unusually carved playing pieces and the curious rules that guided them. Chedra would have loved it, but T-Bone found it a little rigid for his tastes. No battlefield was that static, and if there was one thing he'd learned from Bad Rapp it was that you could never count on your opponent to play by all the rules.

The first time they'd played Manta had learned that the hard way. T-Bone was subtle about it – bending more than breaking – and by now he had it down to such a fine art that the most important piece of the game was captured before the opening move had even been played. Manta's ankle rested snugly in the coil of T-Bone's tail.

"Somehow I get the feeling you're not going to be taking this game very seriously," Manta said dryly, but made no move to kick said tail away.

"Oh I will," T-Bone disagreed, nudging his first pawn forward with the tip of his claw. "Always do."

Manta made a sound somewhere between a snort and a reprimand. His own piece stuttered slightly over the surface of the board as T-Bone carefully timed a muscle twitch. The ray glared lightly. "You don't play fair."

T-Bone hid a grin, keeping up the pretence of the game. There was no doubt in either of their minds who was the better player. Terry and his brother had played a game a week ever since Ryan was old enough to understand the pieces weren't meant to be put in your mouth, and T-Bone tended to plan only in the short term and ignore some of the finer peripheral moves Manta tried to set up. Of course with his tail inching slower up Terry's leg there was a decided lack of his opponents' usual coordination, and it wasn't long before T-Bone had captured not only his Queen and his King, but his hand as well.

_All comments and Criticisms highly appreciated. _


	4. Redirection

**Title:** Redirection  
**Fandom:** Street Sharks (Dinovengers)  
**Characters:** Manta(Terrence Morton)  
**Prompt:** #41 Shapes  
**Word Count:** 500  
**Rating:** G  
**Summary:** The thing that scares him the most is himself.  
**Author's Notes:** N/A

It was the stupidest things that he missed about bring human. For twenty eight years he'd lived in a world comprised of blurred forms without the aid of corrective lenses. Now he couldn't open his eyes without the reminder of how different things were now. Streex would probably think he was insane for missing bad eyesight, but it was just something that you became accustomed to, and he still automatically reached for his glasses every morning in the few, blissful seconds before reality set in.

Now the world was crystal clear, with distinct outlines no longer interrupted by the edges of his frames. He could finally see complete shapes. On certain occasions he could also see right through them in perplexing flashes of vision that left him dizzy. He suspected he could see heat patters too, if the perplexing glow around living bodies and hard-working machinery were any indication. He hadn't mentioned it to anyone yet, too worried about being singled out further as the freak among the freaks.

It wasn't just his sight either. Scent and taste were nearly overwhelming sometimes, and it was like he had to rediscover every food he'd ever eaten because it was all dramatically different now. He was quick to realize that anything overly artificial was like acid in his mouth, and only long-time addiction and the gradual deadening of his taste buds allowed him to still tolerate coffee in any form. The comforting solidness of the cup in his hands was a lifeline to normality.

The rest of his diet shifted accordingly, and despite the first few weeks he spent being disgusted at the sheer amount of junk food the brothers could consume every day he was grateful for it later. On his own he tended to gravitate towards straight meat – even raw it smelled absolutely divine – and it was better when he simply didn't have a choice about his meals. He was very aware that he had always been prone to distraction, and a single unwary moment would be enough to ingest something that would sicken the human in him while some distant corner of his mind exalted with dark pleasure.

There were so many things he didn't understand, and it terrified him. It had seemed like the only possible decision when he'd taken the figurative plunge with his courage and the literal one with the needle, but while the other alters had to resist the baser instincts of their animal halves he grappled with something different. The alien mentality wasn't as dormant as it should have been, and it wasn't a simple minded creature either. It had its own cool intelligence, its own ruthless desires and goals that Manta couldn't even begin to comprehend. He lived with the unpleasant notion that while they were all facing a war out there, he was fighting one inside his own head, and the slimy chill of its presence in his body didn't inspire any confidence that he would be able to resist it forever.


	5. Skin Deep

**Title:** Skin Deep  
**Fandom:** Street Sharks (Dinovengers)  
**Characters:** Bobby Bolton  
**Prompt:** #15 Blue  
**Word Count:** 500  
**Rating:** G  
**Summary:** Green eyed monsters sometimes hide themselves in different shades.  
**Author's Notes:** N/A

His mother had possessed the most remarkable blue eyes. It was the feature his memory recalled the clearest, and the first thing you noticed about her in a photograph. The rest of the picture might fade but somehow that color never seemed to lose its vibrancy. A deep, luscious shade, like Caribbean oceans in summer. Bobby had always been sorely disappointed that he was the only one of her sons that hadn't inherited it.

His father had always emphasized that, despite the nature of his research, he firmly believed that genetics didn't dictate everything about a person. If Bobby had a firmer argument to stand on then personal experience then he would have disagreed, because it certainly seemed that way sometimes. All three of his brothers had inherited that same gorgeous blue while Bobby's were a weak, watered down color – a dull shade of pavement gray – and so it seemed that every natural born advantage had been passed down to everyone except him.

Like the Bolton family smarts. From what he'd heard at least one member of the Bolton family went on to accomplish great intellectual achievements in every generation, and he knew without it wouldn't be him. John was the most likely candidate for that, following closely in their father's footsteps. Even Clint had surfed though school on a B+ average without doing a lick of study anywhere. Robert Bolton was constantly lamenting that Clint could do great things if he ever applied himself, while Clint considered getting out of bed before noon a heroic achievement.

And then there was sports. The jock genes, as Bobby privately liked to think of them. Cooper had inherited them in spades, making him the rising star of the school football team. Clint was just as lucky, though without the dedication to specialize in any particular area he was simple irritatingly good at anything he tried. Even John's secret collage pastime was street racing on bikes, where cat-like reflexes let him turn impossibly close corners at dangerously high speeds with nary a second thought.

It took a fair amount of effort to try and maintain the illusion that Bobby was actually equal to his brothers on that score. It was another case of inheriting too much from the wrong parent. His mother had a long, lithe build that sadly did not lend itself to physical activity as much as their fathers' did. He couldn't build insane muscle mass like Coop and Clint and his reflexes always seemed a sad second to John's. Sure, he could do some fancy footwork on a pair of roller blades, but that had taken years of solid work to gain.

No matter how much he loved his family, there was always that underlying competition of who was better at any particular skill, and at sometimes the need to win for a change was an obsession that consumed him. Even without the gifts of natural advantage that his brothers had Bobby swore he wouldn't resign himself to last place.


	6. Proof of Life

**Title:** Proof of Life  
**Fandom:** Street Sharks (Dinovengers)  
**Characters:** Bolton and his unnamed wife, mentions of the Bolton brothers.  
**Prompt:** #29 Birth  
**Word Count:** 500  
**Rating:** G  
**Summary:** The culmination of Robert Bolton's life's work.  
**Author's Notes:** N/A

Bolton thought the birth of his first child had been the happiest day of his life, better even than the day he'd met his lovely wife because more than anything this was the proof of their commitment to each other, and seeing her sweaty and flushed with her nails digging into his arm and the deafening screams of the baby wailing his displeasure…he'd never been higher.

The purpose of life, passing on their genes to the next generation, the perfect masterpiece of creation. That very first week he'd thrown himself back so passionately into his research that his wife teased him about avoiding the new duties of diaper changing, but she understood. Husband, father and geneticist; this was everything he worked towards and so much greater than he expected it to be, and he felt like he could change a thousand diapers and make love to her a thousand times and tackle every ugly undergrad essay the University had to offer and still be in the mood to celebrate.

It ended up in being far more than a thousand diapers, especially after the result of the second granted them another son. John had been an easy child, rarely fussy and for the most part simply studying the world with eyes that had enchanted every woman in his department. Clint was an entirely different matter. From six am on the dot, every morning, it seemed he opened his eyed and just started screaming for sixteen hours. Food pacified him temporarily, keeping him distracted was paramount, but the experience was far less enjoyable second time around. The only saving grace was that after expending all that energy, Clint managed to exhaust himself enough to sleep soundly through the night. It still took Robert a few years to talk her into child number three.

Statistics were against them, but surprisingly enough they received another son which left them somewhat at a loss for names since they'd both been expecting a girl. Finally Robert admitted that he'd hoped to pass on his own name to one of their children as his father had done to him, and she'd fondly stroked his face and assured him that it was a fine name.

Bobby was different from both his brothers, neither loud nor reserved but strangely independent even from the beginning. He seemed to develop at a different pace, advancing from nipple to bottle to real foods in record time, like he couldn't wait to grow up. Immediately popular with his co-workers' pair of twin girls, he'd joked that it would be no time at all before he was out wooing the ladies and bringing them home for his parents to disprove of.

"They grow up so quickly, don't they?" she'd asked him, blinking rapidly and sounding almost anxious.

He'd hugged her reassuringly, breathing in the scent of her hair. "They'll be with us for a while yet, don't you worry."

They hadn't planned on another child, but when she'd become pregnant with Cooper he'd understood.

_Remember people, comments and criticisms welcome. _


	7. Photographs

**Title:** Photographs  
**Fandom:** Street Sharks (Dinovengers)  
**Characters:** Dinovenger Team - T-Bone, Stegz, Spike, Bullzeye.  
**Prompt:** #43 Square  
**Word Count:** 500  
**Rating:** G  
**Summary:** Fission City's residents are typically clueless, which would be a good thing if it wasn't so annoying.  
**Author's Notes:** N/A

"They think we're WHAT?"

"Geckos, apparently," Stegz said, folding the newspaper into a neat square. "Possibly newts depending on which reporter you ask."

Spike looked heavenward in despair. "How do they come up this rubbish? Didn't they notice the teeth? The horns? Bullzeye's wings?"

"Considering how many photos they've got you'd think so," Bullzeye piped up, flicking happily though the colorful pages. "Here's a good one of you Spike."

Said picture was thrust eagerly in his direction. Spike scowled at it, particularly when he noticed the title of the article it was pinned next to. The new Street Sharks?

"And they're throwing us in with those oversized guppies," he complained. "Haven't they noticed the blindingly obvious differences?"

"We do work with them," Bullzeye said with shrug. "And the humans aren't exactly crowding us for an explanation on what the real deal is."

"Tell that to the guy in the helicopter," Spike muttered.

"You'd better not," T-Bone growled warningly. "The photos are bad enough without the press getting an exclusive interview. This is a huge problem for us."

"It is quite a breech of the intergalactic code," Stegz observed mildly. "Hopefully HQ won't ever hear of it."

"Relax guys," Bullzeye said. "It's not like they even know what we are. They thing we're just more experiments of that Doctor What's-his-name."

"Paradigm," Stegz corrected.

"Yeah him." The Pteranadon looked closely at the glossy photographs. "You're right about the species thing though Spike. I mean this planet even had Dinosaurs."

Stegz quoted from the article he was reading. "Expert paleontologist, Doctor Howard Benning, assures the press that despite the strong resemblance to the fearsome creatures of old, it is absolutely impossible that these new Mutants could have been made from actual dinosaur DNA. He states that this form of science is far more complex than Jurassic Park makes it out to be, and that recreating an actual sample of such genetic material is just a fool's dream."

T-Bone rolled his eyes expressively. "It's amazing how they can be so right and yet so completely wrong at the same time. I suppose we should be grateful."

Spike just made a face. "What's Jurassic Park?"

"It's a movie," Bullzeye informed him eagerly. "You'd like it. It's got-"

"Perhaps we should save the film discussion for later Bullzeye," Stegz said, correctly gauging T-Bone's rising exasperation. "Our primary objective should be deciding what to do about all…this." He gestured to the table that was currently littered with everything from the daily paper to the trashiest tabloids. They all had theories, though admittedly not correct ones. The damage was a bit too widespread to be undone now.

One by one they looked to T-Bone, who was thankfully used to the weight of those decisions. "I'm not sure there's much we can do except ride it out. As long as we keep working with the Sharks they'll assume the wrong thing."

Yet another valid reason to keep working with Ripster. That was almost more irritating than the photos themselves.


	8. Sense

**Title:** Sense  
**Fandom:** Street Sharks (Dinovengers)  
**Characters:** Streex, Spike  
**Prompt:** #36 Smell  
**Word Count:** 500  
**Rating:** PG-ish  
**Summary:** A shark's sense of smell is attuned for only one thing.  
**Author's Notes:** N/A

There were plenty of things Streex had needed to get used to after his mutation. The uncanny strength he still couldn't always keep under control, the people who would run away screaming, the fact that it was harder to find clothing that fit around the fin, and the near-constant appetite. The strangest, however, was the effect the smell of blood had on him. It didn't matter if it was rump steak in the freezer or Bends' cuts and scrapes from the garage, it could get him hotter under the collar than the current Miss America.

The distance he could notice it at was as amazing as it was alarming. He'd never realised how limited human senses were. When a kid came into the comic book store upstairs with a scraped knee, he knew. When Lena brought them hamburgers for dinner he could tell before she'd even gotten out of the car. When they drove out into battle he had to constantly keep himself in check, and the potential to frenzy was always just below the surface. It was a subtle reminder than the shark in him was always waiting, subdued but never sleeping, but it was something you got used to after a while.

And while the shark was appeased by scent, humans were far more visually oriented, and at some point distinction between seeing and smelling didn't matter…they both made him hungry.

"Are you…drooling?" Spike asked. "Because that is just wrong."

Streex was half tempted to reach for the remote and turn the TV off before he was further implicated, but the images were mesmerising. "Shut up." The man dressed in white showed off another rack of perfectly trimmed meat cuts. "You can't tell me that doesn't look like perfect barbecue material."

"You're talking to the wrong guy. Vegetarian, remember?" Spike reminded him, staring at the picture with a faint look of disgust. "I have no idea how you can find dead animals appetising."

Streex grinned toothily. "Benefit of being at the top of the food chain."

Spike sneered. "It's barbaric."

"We like to think of it as being in touch with our inner nature," Streex corrected loftily. "Sharks survived for thousands of years without needing to change…can't say the same for the dinosaurs."

Spike glared, tail lashing in irritation. "Well if they had to evolve along with you fur-faced mammals I can see why they'd rather be extinct," he growled.

Tension hung in the air for a moment as they both considered the possibilities for a more lively continuation of the discussion with claws and fists, but then Streex remembered what Bends had said about preserving the furniture and reluctantly backed down. "Yeah, well, whatever." He turned back to the TV and instantly brightened a little as the chef was not showing the best way to slice a leg of lamb. "Just don't knock the experience until you've tried it."

If not for the opacity of scales, Spike would have turned slightly green of the thought. "Not likely."


	9. All in the Act

**Title:** All in the Act  
**Fandom:** Street Sharks (Dinovengers)  
**Characters:** Rox, Brothers mentioned  
**Prompt:** #76 Who?  
**Word Count:** 500  
**Rating:** G  
**Summary:** The life of a rockstar isn't as easy as you'd think.  
**Author's Notes:** N/A

_Who?_ Was the question on everyone's lips, and Rox was well aware of the mystique that surrounded his nearly legendary career. He'd become adept at dodging the hopefully phrased questions of the press, immune to the pleading eyes of his fans whenever they asked, and a veritable expert at drawing enough attention to himself to be the most popular act in the city – maybe even the state – but not enough to be questioned too closely on his looks.

There were still enough people who thought he was just a man in a costume trying to jump on the hype surrounding the Street Sharks to keep him out of danger. Such people had obviously never seen him up close. The illusion tended to fall away pretty quickly. A charming smile (one he'd perfected not to show too many teeth) and a quick motion to usher them from his presence was usually enough for them to talk themselves into doubt about it later though.

For that reason it was a risky business to let anyone get too close. His band members were cool; he treated them well and the brutal truth was that without him they didn't amount to much. His groupies were too dazzled by his celebrity status to care if he wasn't human, and while he could waste many delightful hours in their company it did get quite tiring being on that pedestal.

There were pros and cons to every lifestyle, he reflected philosophically. He loved what he did. The fame, the glory, the music, the people. The rush of the crowd screaming his name as he gave them what they wanted. Music had gained a whole new dimension, though whether that was a shark-ling like Lena had suggested or simply his new frame of mind, but whatever it was the people loved it. There was nothing better, and certainly nothing to compare to it from the humble experiences of Melvin Kresnik.

But it was lonely. He was an idol, a free ticket, sometimes even a monster to be feared…but rarely a person. Only to the brothers because they knew the truth of it all, and suffered a lot of the same stigmas but without the good points of bring a rock icon. There were some days when he wondered why they didn't just give it up and come with him. Streex was still the best drummer he'd had and Rox would have been more than happy to take the others on even if they didn't want to be part of his act. A perfect solution for all of them.

Unfortunately, his plan hit a stop sign every time a newscast came on about another destroyed factory and how Paradigm Enterprises was not pleased, and he was reminded that the freedom he enjoyed was only because the sharks were still fighting the good fight behind the scenes. Everyone had their own calling, and if his was stardom then theirs was defending the city, something they should all be grateful for.


	10. Man behind the Curtain

**Title:** Man behind the Curtain  
**Fandom:** Street Sharks (Dinovengers)  
**Characters:** Slammu, Bolton, others mentioned.  
**Prompt:** #55 Spirit  
**Word Count:** 500  
**Rating:** G  
**Summary:** At the time they need their father the most, he isn't there. Or is he?  
**Author's Notes:** N/A

Slammu would have been the first to agree that his father was still out there. The e-mails, the clues, always steering them in the right direction just fast enough for them to thwart Paradigm soundly but not fast enough to catch up to whatever road Robert Bolton was on now. Even if there was never anything personal in the intermittent transmissions, the brothers knew the particular touch of their own family; could feel it reverberating right down to their bones.

But the man was a ghost. He never left anything tangible behind unless one counted the ectoplasm traces of slime. No one had figured out what that meant yet, except maybe Lena but she refused to say anything on the matter. They didn't know where or why he'd hidden himself away, or whether that was even the case at all.

The silence was unnerving. After all, if it was him, why hide the fact? Why not give them more than a painful hope? Just something to say he was still alive, that he was alright, that everything would be okay. Slammu desperate wanted someone to be able to say that to him. Ripster wouldn't…he wasn't any more certain of it than the rest of them, and now that they were closer than they'd ever been the lie would have fallen flat before it ever left his mouth.

He didn't like to admit it, even in his own mind, but sometimes he started to doubt. After all, they were still only four mutants and a handful of allies in a city that hated them against a man who had the mayor in his pocket and a thousand schemes to conquer a clueless population. Combined they were smart and strong, but smart wasn't like genius and Paradigm had every law enforcer at his beck and call. Only caution kept him from trying to launch an all out assault on the brothers. After all, the scientist had a lot to hide, and no way of telling what kind of ace they could whip out of their sleeve when backed into a corner.

At the same time, something was missing from the equation. The Scientist wasn't exactly applauded for his restraint. With the odds so dramatically against them, why _hadn't_ Paradigm levelled anything more lethal at them yet? It wasn't like he was short on resources, but it seemed there was something else in his path. Not just the Street Sharks, but someone who saw the master plan, who cut the puppet strings, and who knew Paradigm far better than even his closest assistant.

The mutants fought their battles but it was really intellect that was going to win this war. Paradigm against Bolton. The chess masters who moved their pieces in a constant cycle of attack and defence. Slammu had never been very good at those kind of games, but he felt better at the thought that their father was still watching over them, and helping them in the best way he could.

_You know the drill by now. Reviews earn you cookies. Chocolate one. I promise._


	11. Love Songs

**Title:** Love Songs  
**Fandom:** Street Sharks (Dinovengers)  
**Characters:** Streex, Rox.  
**Prompt:** #32 Sunset  
**Word Count:** 500  
**Rating:** G  
**Summary:** Streex and Rox, bonding over music and other beautiful things.  
**Author's Notes:** If you tilt your head and squint, you might catch the slashy subtext, but only if you want to.

Streex didn't see a lot of sunsets anymore. Didn't see much in the way of sky either really, with he and his brothers spending most of their time underground in pretty much every sense of the word. It was safer that way, but safe wasn't very fun, nor was it very good company. Rox was much better for that.

Of course, finding an open slot in the Bull Shark's overloaded schedule was…impossible. So he'd simply dragged Rox off when no one had been looking and, deciding he'd had just about enough of cold and cramped and dark, had headed for the roof exit instead. The air reeked of cigarettes and he just had to hope no one was going to try ducking out for a smoke while the star of the show was AWOL.

Yes it was stupid and unnecessarily risky and Ripster would probably lecture him about the very real danger of being idiotic in a position like theirs, but for now he didn't care. The sun was fighting its losing battle against the horizon, casting everything in a pleasing golden glow, and while the air wasn't exactly fresh it was certainly an improvement on the stifling atmosphere of Shark Central.

Rox, for his part, didn't seem to much mind catering to the Tiger Shark's innate desire to play hooky, particularly when he still had his guitar to emphasize his point in conversation, or to fill the frequent, but not uncomfortable, silences. The shark-shaped, rough edged instrument sang sweetly under his practiced fingers. Streex knew Rox had more than enough money to replace it for something much classier, but had never found the will or the nonchalance to ask why he didn't.

No matter how grungy its origins, there was no doubt that Rox knew what he was doing when he handled it, and it was hypnotizing to listen as he summoned music from memory, twisting them, folding them, playing them backwards just to see how they spoke to the ear.

A particular piece started to emerge. Having a drummers mindset, Streex recognized the rhythm before the melody. He listened intently. "What song is that?"

"Something new," Rox said, one eye on his finger work and the other peering out at Streex from beneath his wild spikes of dark hair. "Since you got me out here all alone I thought I might have a word with my muse. Got a big concert coming up next week, and I'm supposed to have something new to wow the fans."

"Oh." He took note of the flirty trill. "Love song?"

Rox grinned and winked. "Of course. The struggle of the heart makes the most beautiful music."

"Spoken like someone who's _in_ love," Streex observed sardonically. Rox's smile widened slightly, but made no other reply. Not that he needed to. Some girl was probably feeling very lucky right now. "Caught you by the fin, did she?"

"And pulled me off into the sunset," Rox agreed cheerfully. "That deserves a song, don't you think?"


	12. Line of Fire

**Title:** Line of Fire  
**Fandom:** Street Sharks (Dinovengers)  
**Characters:** Ripster  
**Prompt:** #52 Fire  
**Word Count:** 500  
**Rating:** G  
**Summary:** Trial by Fire for the oldest of the Bolton boys.  
**Author's Notes:** N/A

Sharks didn't like fire. It was an unnatural element in their universe. A blasphemy of heat and bright in their oceanic environment of cool and dim. It prickled like static on Ripster's sixth sense, fizzing unpredictably and making any kind of concentration difficult. Sharks didn't panic, didn't get many strong feelings except for hunger, but Ripster was as close to it as he could get, with a human under each arm and a blaze on all sides.

He was pretty resilient, even to something his shark side wasn't exactly built to handle, but smoke was always the biggest threat even with his gills filtering out the worst of it. His two passengers couldn't say the same, and the sound of their coughing was more jarring than the noxious scent of burning hair and plastics. He needed a fast exit, but wreathed in flames there was no way to recognise which corridor had lead to safety and which went lead to an unpleasant fate of suffocation or burning alive.

It was a grim situation, but at the same time he knew he wouldn't have chosen to be anywhere else. The public despised him, one of the hapless civilians he'd saved had practically fainted when he'd come to rescue them, and there was a very real chance they were all about to die…but doing something was far better than doing nothing.

They'd known this time was going to be different. This wasn't just another publicity stunt; capturing small time crooks to try and earn themselves a gold star from the police department and undo a bit of the damage Paradigm had done to their reputations. This was scary and real and he only hoped to God the others had made it off the second floor before it had collapsed. He had, painfully, when the floor had given way and it had taken every effort to make sure the people in his arms had been cushioned from the impact.

Everything they did was a leap of faith. No action was meaningless, no act went unseen, and for all the good karma they must have been raking in over the past few months surely they deserved to have this rescue operation succeed. They were all survivors. No reason this time should be any different, or so he tried to tell himself. One burning building shouldn't be enough to take down the infamous Street Sharks. One careless kid with a box of matches surely wasn't comparable to an evil genius with a growing army of monstrous minions.

Ripster couldn't afford to be defeated by this. He still had people depending on him, and his brothers to take care of, and most of all a battle that still needed solders to keep the innocent and ignorant from becoming unwitting casualties. There wasn't time to hesitate or second guess or, above all, make a rational decision. Rationality had been left behind them ages ago.

He chose a corridor, held his breath, and took another leap of faith.


	13. Abandon

**Title:** Abandon  
**Fandom:** Street Sharks (Dinovengers)  
**Characters:** Morton Family, Ryan-centric.  
**Prompt:** #74 Dark  
**Word Count:** 500  
**Rating:** G  
**Summary:** The death of childhood fears in the face of something far more terrible.  
**Author's Notes:** N/A

Not that he'd have ever admitted it to anyone outside of family, but Ryan had once been afraid of the dark.

It was a normal thing, his parents had told him. Nothing to be embarrassed about. He'd needed a lamp left on every night to drive back the shadows that tried to creep out of the closet or from under the bed, and there was no force capable of compelling him out into the dark hallway after his parents went to bed. Even Terry's star gazing expeditions couldn't tempt him out after sunset because he was convinced it was a sure way to get yourself eaten. His brother was fearless, venturing out time after time and always coming back safe and slightly exhilarated and Ryan felt ashamed that he couldn't follow and learn to enjoy what was obviously Terry's calling.

But there were things in the dark. Nameless, dangerous things that would drag you into their world where you could never escape from. He'd never seen these things except as fleeting movement out of the corner of his eye or in the rattling of windows, but primordial instinct assured him there were there even if his family said differently.

And then one day Terry didn't come home, and suddenly there was a lot more to be afraid of then anything the darkness could throw at him.

He found himself wandering the house at all hours of the night, drifting in and out of the rooms he could picture his brother strongest in. Some part of him was somehow convinced if he could just relive the memory vividly enough then Terry would miraculously reappear. It had taken a month before he'd even noticed how the dark no longer bothered him. The most painful month of his life because while Terry was more than twice his age and had only been dropping by for holiday visits since Ryan was four there was still a painful void without the weekly phone calls and admonishments about his report card.

After that, meeting real monsters wasn't nearly so terrifying. Yes they were big and scary and had even more teeth than his imagination had ever pictured, but one of them had his brothers eyes and voice and all that mattered was that the hole in his life had been sealed over and repainted until you could almost imagine it hadn't existed. Besides, even big and scary, Streex had said his brother was a freedom fighter, and that sounded a whole lot cooler than what other people's brothers and sisters were doing even if he wasn't supposed to tell anyone.

A week after Terry had dropped him home the phone calls had started again. Tentative at first, as though he wasn't sure it was still welcome after they'd seen his new form, and then more comfortably as they all remembered how things had been before. Even Ryan could appreciate the irony that now he couldn't wait for a certain monster to come visit in the night.

_Reviews welcome and all that. :3 And for anyone who wants to get into the fandom I highly recommend sharksunderground; the one and only Street Sharks/Dinovengers mailing list on Yahoo!Groups. We don't bite, really._


	14. Constraints

**Title:** Constraints  
**Fandom:** Street Sharks (Dinovengers)  
**Characters:** T-Bone, Chedra (from Extreme Dinosaurs)  
**Prompt:** #94 Independence  
**Word Count:** 500  
**Rating:** G  
**Summary:** It isn't a crime not to have all the answers.  
**Author's Notes:** For those who know the history of the show, the characters who originally appeared in the Dinovengers episodes went on to form their own cartoon known as Extreme Dinosaurs (ED), although their situations and backstories changed drastically. I figure if you can borrow characters one way, you can do it in reverse too. Chedra was exclusive to ED, but I adjusted her role a little to fit her into this universe.

The Quadranian Book of Laws had precisely one thousand, four hundred and seventy six pages bound neatly in a hard cover that bore the stamped insignia of the original Judgment Council. Furthermore, each individual page was actually a thin sliver of flexible digital display, allowing text size and color to be changed at whim and fitting far more data in the allotted space due to the introduction of a scrolling interface. In actuality the book contained almost a hundred times the amount of information it seemed to considering its relatively small size.

This made finding any specific rule in it an absolute chore, which was why T-Bone almost never bothered to consult it, but on this occasion he chose to persist out of both curiosity and a distinct lack of anything better to do.

The book had been a gift from Captain Chedra, a former commanding officer and close friend, though the action giving of the gift had been both a gentle jibe and perhaps an abundance of optimism on her part. He really only kept it out of sentimental value. T-Bone's skills were better suited to a "by any means necessary" kind of guideline than the dictations of a book. The red tape was too smothering, and breaking of the lesser rules for the greater good was a sin easily dismissed by his conscience.

Chedra had felt rather differently about the matter, but in time they'd learned to compromise. He'd pay attention to at least some of the rules and she'd leave the objections about his technique until after the criminals were behind bars. It was a good system, particularly after she'd learned not to take herself too seriously and the chastisement was just an act they had to play out for the sake of everyone else.

He'd never quite understood the completeness of her devotion. Being a fiercely independent being he couldn't imagine committing so much of himself to something as intangible as an ideal, even one so universally exalted as Justice. Her world view was so starkly black and white, good versus evil, and while he found her exasperatingly narrow minded at times he could at least admit that she'd never swayed from her duty, and never seemed at a loss on how to respond to any given situation.

He could really have used her presence right about now. The situation on Earth was becoming more unstable by the day, and had been spiraling out of his control since before he'd even arrived. Too many questions, too many disasters waiting to happen and a few they still hadn't managed to avert in the first place. For the first time he found himself without any certainties, only possibilities which could salvage the day or ruin them completely, and in near desperation he'd remembered the book.

Just this once he could forgive himself for seeking a bit of clarity between its pages and hope to find some answers as to what the hell he was supposed to be doing.


	15. Star Crossed

**Title:** Star Crossed  
**Fandom:** Street Sharks (Dinovengers)  
**Characters:** T-Bone/Manta  
**Prompt:** #34 Not Enough  
**Word Count:** 500  
**Rating:** PG for light Slash.  
**Summary:** The one thing they would never have enough of was time.  
**Author's Notes:** The crack!slash seems to be going over better than I expected, so here's a little more. 83

The one thing they would never have enough of was time.

They barely had moments between missions to breathe let alone relationships. Every time a new threat reared it's ugly head they had to collect themselves as best they could and continue on, with only shared glances to mark another moment lost, another conversation that would never happen. Even knowing there was interest on both sides, there was simply no practical way they could fit it into their lives.

And the inevitable was always looming over their heads. Every battle brought them closer to the time when T-Bone would have to leave. One day they would actually win, and the peace of mind of everyone around them would be brought for the price of the time they would never have for each other. T-Bone didn't think about it, Manta wouldn't talk about it, but the knowledge was always there that anything that might have been would only be temporary anyway. Quite literally they were worlds apart in a time and a place that could never reconcile.

The final, brutal truth wasn't even an issue after that, but T-Bone was prone to analysing a problem from every angle. Even if the circumstances were different, if Manta was free to leave or if he was free to come back and they found something in each other that would last…Manta would be growing old without him. He'd traded longevity for the power to take down the Raptors. The same potent genetics that put him at their level also severely shortened his lifespan. He had only years, not decades. He couldn't offer what he'd already willingly given up, and it was a sour irony that without the enhancements he wouldn't never have met Manta in the first place. They'd been doomed from the start.

So it made no sense that, even knowing they would never have the time, that his traitorous emotions wouldn't give up. He found himself lingering, hesitating, considering…trying to steal back those moments they weren't destined to have. It could only end painfully for both of them, but proximity was sweet torture and touch was an addictive poison and T-Bone could only come to the conclusion that some things were worth the hurt it brought later.

It surprised him that Manta said something first. Though not as uptight as he'd been when they'd first met, the Hybrid rarely chose to assert himself unless he was pushed to breaking point. Perhaps T-Bone hadn't been the only one suffering for what they couldn't have. A simple admission, spoken so plainly that T-Bone couldn't help but be slightly unnerved. An issue so deep and complex wasn't supposed to sound so simple. A desire to try, even knowing that it could end at any time, that all they had were borrowed moments. T-Bone considered the proposition and, deciding that the argument was infallible, allowed Manta to back him up against the wall.

No time just meant they didn't have the luxury of taking it slow.


	16. Someday

**Title:** Someday  
**Fandom:** Street Sharks (Dinovengers)  
**Characters:** Robert Bolton, others mentioned.  
**Prompt:** #79 When?  
**Word Count:** 500  
**Rating:** G  
**Summary:** The reasons why he couldn't face his sons were many and weak.  
**Author's Notes:** N/A

The being formerly known as Robert Bolton had never precisely been the tidiest of workers. His home had been neat but cluttered, his lab the very definition of organized chaos. He always knew exactly where everything was, but it was all a bit…everywhere. On the tables, the shelves, the chairs, sometimes even the floor. Every horizontal surface was at risk of becoming the new home of yet another project that he would eventually 'get back to'.

He couldn't get away with that kind of structured disorder anymore. His own unwilling mutation had a number of peculiar quirks, the least of which was the tendency to produce a runny ichor at the most inconvenient times. Slime, he thought disgustedly. He couldn't control it, particularly when he was on the path to unravelling yet another of Paradigm's schemes and the thrill of the intellectual hunt was upon him.

Now his workspace really did have to be immaculate as he fought the never ending war against his own body. Paper was disintegrated by it, chemicals were compromised, and even his computer had to be covered with a tarp lest he start get too worked up and inadvertently ruin his most useful tool. He'd had to replace the keyboard on almost a daily basis until he'd finally figured out how to waterproof one. No doubt his sons thought his intermittent communications were a sign of neglect rather than disability.

He was shamed. They'd peen pulled unwillingly into what should have been a private dispute between himself and Paradigm, and yet were coping far better with their changes than he. One could argue that the creature his new form was based on was far less desirable than what his sons had received, but the fact remained that he couldn't gain control of a docile invertebrate while they had mastered the instincts of some of nature's best killers. It was little wonder his hid himself away inside the cave-like tunnels that made up his new domain, living like a hermit except on the rare occasions he needed to keep a physical eye on his rival's misdeeds.

At first he'd thrown himself entirely into the search for a cure - desperate to undo the damage Paradigm had wrought on he and his sons – but he quickly realized how selfish that was. While he was looking for a cure Paradigm was finding ways to change more people, inflict more suffering, and Bolton's sons were the only roadblock in his path. The moment he'd understood that he knew his efforts had to be channelled less exclusively, or by the time he'd found the cure he'd need to be administering it to the whole city.

With so much time and effort devoted to his work, he could easily misplace the guilt about not keeping in closer with his sons. When the time was right, he promised himself, he'd tell them everything. When he had the cure perfected, perhaps, or when Paradigm had been dealt with one way or the other.


	17. Mock Battles

**Title:** Mock Battles  
**Fandom:** Street Sharks (Dinovengers)  
**Characters:** T-Bone, Spike, Stegz, Bullzeye, Ripster.  
**Prompt:** #67 Snow  
**Word Count:** 500  
**Rating:** G  
**Summary:** T-Bone doesn't like losing even the pretend battles, and Ripster can talk anyone into anything.  
**Author's Notes:** A big thank-you to everyone who's reviewed so far. :) I really appreciate it.

'Fun' and 'Snow' were two words that were not meant to get within a sentence of each other in T-Bone's vocabulary. Cold made him slow and stupid and above all COLD. It was never a pleasant experience and he wouldn't be out willingly in it except for some clever manipulation of phrasing on Ripster's behalf. Replace the aforementioned words with 'training exercise' and 'unfamiliar terrain' and you got a proposal that the Rex had been more than happy to agree to right up until he found out what it entailed.

By now Ripster seemed to have realized that the number of snowballs T-Bone had lobbed his way was not always a matter of targeting opportunity, and was wisely keeping his head down.

In fact at the moment the battlefield silent, with neither side giving or gaining ground as they waited each other out; and it was a waiting game the Saurians were going to lose unless something drastic happened.

"Maybe we should just call it a draw?" Bullzeye said, hunching further into his layers to preserve what little heat remained.

"They won't agree to it," T-Bone replied. "By now they know we're weakened."

With some smugness he still maintained that they'd been winning at first. Tactics had always been T-Bone's forte, even if this was just a mockery of battle, and they'd kept the sharks pinned in their makeshift trench quite easily for the better part of the game. Snowballs were an unfamiliar weapon but his team learned fast and a little bit of resentful ferocity only helped their cause.

Of course, T-Bone was intending to have a long talk with Spike on the nature of friendly fire when they were finished.

But the initial exuberance had worn off all to quickly as the Saurians rediscovered the drawbacks of being naturally cold-blooded. The Great White had managed to rally his brothers when they'd noticed their attackers losing accuracy and turning sluggish from the icy winds, and only a tactical retreat had saved the Saurians from an unprecedented loss.

While he certainly wasn't enjoying the weather, matching wits with Ripster was an interesting challenge. In fact, the entire proposal to let the two groups have at each other with non-lethal (though not pleasant) weaponry hadn't been such a bad idea either, with tensions and tempers had been running a bit high over the last few days. T-Bone didn't like having to appreciate such a fine mesh of manipulations, but he could at least admit that perhaps Ripster knew what he was doing.

Bullzeye had lost the will to fly against the icy winds to give them a better view on the situation, so he wasn't even sure where the Sharks were hiding anymore. The shape of the battleground had changed drastically as snow had been picked up, thrown, pushed away, dug into and dived in. Whatever was coming next would be impossibly to predict, but even with their current disadvantage T-Bone had no intention of giving up on victory so easily.


	18. Time for Repairs

**Title:** Time for Repairs.  
**Fandom:** Street Sharks (Dinovengers)  
**Characters:** Bends, Lena, others mentioned.  
**Prompt:** #72 Fixed.  
**Word Count:** 500  
**Rating:** G  
**Summary:** Bends can repair most things...not people.  
**Author's Notes:** N/A

Bends could fix things. He was good at it, and liked it enough that he kept going back to the Science labs to help keep things running even if he was rarely paid for his troubles. It was enough to know that he was helping out, and at times he felt like a doting parent, trying to keep his wayward children in good health even when they consistently resisted his efforts.

If taking care of machinery was parenthood, then building was certainly conception. He could take something old and rusted and outdated turn it into something shiny and useful and new. It was his own little way of recycling some the excess that people just dismissed as trash. Moby wasn't the only environmentalist in the group. Bends did his part where he could, and he did it happily because he knew it was a skill that was useful and appreciated. There were also times when he resorted to it because he needed the reminder that there was still some good he was doing for the team when other areas were in need of a careful touch that he just didn't possess.

Machines were easy to fix. People were not.

You couldn't just replace the parts of people that wore out. You couldn't keep them locked up in the garage so they didn't accumulate any more damage from use. You couldn't stop them from straining themselves. All you could do was point out the weak points and advise, "Hey, don't keep putting stress there or it'll break down," and even that part wasn't very easy. Human weaknesses weren't like mechanical ones. Sometimes they were invisible until it was too late. Sometimes they pretended to be strengths until pressure was put on them in just the wrong way.

No, humans were a lot more complex than machines, and Bends wondered why he even kept trying when he was so incredibly unqualified to fix people. He could be cheerful and upbeat, try to joke and tease until his unwilling victim was in a better mood, but that wasn't really fixing them. It was just like throwing a coat of paint over the damage and hoping it didn't show through.

Lena was better at it. She understood people, and had the right sort of empathy to see the hidden problems that Bends always missed. Her innate respect for the fragile male ego could lull even Streex into a quiet enough mood to talk about what was eating him. One had to respect her ability to talk Manta out of a brooding session, or Jab out of a rage, and while her handiwork wasn't as easy to recognize as his, it was no less appreciated. While he had a workshop full of goodies to show for his efforts, the fact that the rest of them were still together and _sane_ was certainly proof that she knew what she was doing, and did it extremely well. He made a mental note to tell her more often.


	19. Lost in Translation

**Title:** Lost in Translation  
**Fandom:** Street Sharks (Dinovengers)  
**Characters:** Stegz, Streex  
**Prompt:** #77 What?  
**Word Count:** 500  
**Rating:** G  
**Summary:** The two least comparable members of the team have a short discussion.  
**Author's Notes:** N/A

Stegz smiled, patient, reserved, and ever so slightly smug. There were no words, but the implications of the debt were carefully articulated in that silence. Streex's conscience, a fickle creature at the best of times, made a terrible inconvenience of itself by taking notice even while force of habit kept his mouth shut. There wasn't supposed to be any encouragement on either side, though that agreement was equally nonverbal and really only a matter of pride between the more bull-headed of the group.

The quiet stretched out painfully. Streex fidgeted. Stegz forced down a bemused smirk, and the Tiger Shark hated him with a quiet passion.

"You can say it," The saurian told him finally. "I'm not Spike or T-Bone. I won't hold it against you forever."

Streex scowled, disbelief evident across his features. True, Stegz was one of the few who didn't seem to take notice of the unspoken contract, but it was extremely hard to overcome the ingrained reaction against the simplest of courtesies which was in turn almost as difficult as leaving it unsaid. If nothing else his mother had raised him better.

"Thanksforsavingmylife."

There. He'd said it.

Stegz blinked at him with exaggerated slowness. "What?"

Oh, he was so asking for it. Steex glared, but grudgingly repeated at a slower pace, "Thank you for saving my life."

"You're welcome," Stegz replied easily, and Streex felt himself deflate in relief that the Saurian hadn't chosen to make an issue out of it. The action didn't go unnoticed, and was evidently a further source of amusement. "Was that really so hard?"

"Yes!" Streex said empathically. "You should have seen the look T-Bone gave me last time I slipped. It was like I'd killed his grandmother, or something…"

Stegz shook his head. "That's just because he likes you and your brothers." 

The tiger sharks' look was flat. "You joke."

"No. I've known him long enough to be able to tell. He likes you…but he doesn't want to like you and he dislikes it when you give him any excuse to do so."

Streex stared for a moment. "Uh, are you sure that's not just all in your head?"

"Absolutely," Stegz replied. "T-Bone can be a little complicated sometimes, but he makes sense once you get used to him."

Streex flopped down at the table, grumbling, "He's a talking alien Tyrannosaurs Rex with trust issues. I don't think I'll ever get used to him. In fact I was sort of hoping this whole thing with the Raptors was going to get dealt with before I _had_ to get used to him."

"I'm sure your opinion isn't a static condition. Given further opportunity to expand on the common denominations in your lives, I think you could form a mutually beneficial liaison."

Sometimes it was hard to tell if Stegz was speaking the same English as the rest of them. "Um…What?"

That earned him an eye roll. "Give him a chance. You might like him too."

"…Are you sure you're not joking?"


	20. Unfair

**Title:** Unfair  
**Fandom:** Street Sharks (Dinovengers)  
**Characters:** Jab, Ripster, Moby and Stegz mentioned  
**Prompt:** #30 Death  
**Word Count:** 500  
**Rating:** PG for Character Death. Consider yourself warned.  
**Summary:** Nothing about death is ever fair.  
**Author's Notes:** I've been threatening to do this for, like, evah. 83

The wound was too new, too raw to even try assessing the size of the scar it would leave when it started to fade. Ripster knew he was tempting fate by picking at it so soon, but Jab hadn't really seen anything around him for days, locked away in his own grief. No one else dared approach him, not afraid of his infamous temper, but rather afraid they wouldn't find it.

Hollow, Stegz had described him as, looking more perturbed than an outsider should have. Bonds formed quickly when lives were on the line and were just as painful when broken. Time would heal the rest of them – even Bends had stared showing interest in his tools again, trying to take his mind off things – but Jab remained quietly recluse and his brothers could only exchange helpless glances when he turned down offers to talk or shoulders to cry on or even food.

Unwillingly nominated by superiority of age and blood relation, Ripster knew he should try to say something, but how to even broach the topic? Sure, they all shared the same loss, but Jab and Moby had been close in a way that hadn't diminished with time or distance. There were enough pictures in the Bolton's albums that you'd have almost thought Jets was misplaced member of the family, always a mirror of Clint's energy and mischievous grins before they'd both grown up a little. Then Jets had gone to collage and Clint had decided that nothing before midday was worth his time, but somehow they hadn't grown apart despite the changing philosophies.

Jab said nothing when his older brother joined him. For a while Ripster thought maybe the hammerhead hadn't even noticed him until he heard Jab speak, voice rusty from disuse and restrained anguish.

"He never even wanted to get involved, you know?"

Ripster waited patiently until Jab finally continued, "The war was never his thing. I told him we'd only need him until Paradigm stopped putting us on the defensive and then he could go right back to saving kittens from trees or whatever the hell he did down there. It wasn't-"

Words spewed forth like a flood unleashed, but Jab quickly dammed the flow. One step at a time.

"His parents didn't believe me. They wouldn't even claim the body. Guess they'd rather believe Jets is still alive somewhere, normal. Who could blame them?"

But for them, there was no such uncertainty to soften the blow. They'd found the body, still warm and strangely peaceful. Not even a chance for one of Paradigm's miraculous return-from-the-dead tricks. He'd died a hero, the papers said. Buried with full honours by the good will of the President. One day soon John would need to give him a call and say thank you…but not until the rest of the living were taken care of. Jab didn't resist when Ripster put an arm around his shoulder, taking small comfort in the lopsided embrace.

"It's just not fair," he whispered.

_New chapters will be posted in a different story. I'm probably going to try for something a bit more comprehensive next. Longer chapters instead of ficlets maybe. _


	21. Extra Credit

No, I lied. I'm going to start sorting these things vaguely by plotline, but anything that doesn't fit will eventually end up here.

**Characters:** Jab, Moby  
**Prompt:** #14 Green  
**Word Count:** 500  
**Rating:** G  
**Summary:** From collage student to nature crusader, Moby's choice wasn't really out of the blue.  
**Author's Note:** There's a bit of psuedo-flirting of you care to see it that way, but mostly just friendship. And giant bugs.

"Aren't you taking this whole 'getting in touch with Mother Nature' thing a little too far?" Jab asked, crouching uncomfortably low to get under a thick branch; one of many that stretched heedlessly across the path. Calling it that might even have been a bit too generous, being little more than a flattened trail of grass that was probably lucky to fit the sleek form of the occasional predator let alone two mutants.

Moby seemed a lot less bothered by it. "You always did get jealous when I had a new lady in my life."

Jab snorted with dramatic emphasis. "You wish. It just seemed so unexpected. I mean, last I heard, you were going to graduate, be an assistant biologist in some crummy little lab outside of town, and instead you're out here playing guardian angel of the forest, living in some crummy little shack." A beat. "Well, at least that part is sort of the same."

Moby swatted him with a light laugh. "That's it. I'm not sharing my bug-spray with you anymore."

"Aw man, I take it back already," Jab moaned, glancing around warily as though the insects might have been listening in for such a delicious declaration. "The bugs here are, like, the size of hamsters!"

"Like Fission City doesn't have its own share of mutant cockroaches from all that nuclear waste. Soon Paradigm'll be the least of your worries."

"Feh. Like he isn't already the King of the roaches. Impossible to squash too."

The topic wore itself out momentarily as they were forced to fight their way through another thick patch of greenery. Blade-like shoots and clawing branches didn't have a hope of leaving their mark on Jab's toughened skin, but the work was hot and heavy, and he kept losing track of Moby's camouflaged form in the veils of foliage. In his own autumn-hued street clothes, he didn't have half as much luck blending in. Not that he wanted to, of course. Moby might have treated the Everglades like his own personal backyard, but every tree looked the same to Jab and he didn't want to risk getting lost.

"It's not that different, really."

"Huh?" It took the hammerhead a moment to trace back the comment to his original point.

Moby gave him a practiced _Pay attention stupid_ look, one he'd perfected back when they'd both been in High School. That seemed like centuries ago now. "Biology is just the study of plants and animals. This is the same thing…just a little bit more hands on."

Jab was less than convinced. Sure, Moby had always had the greater motivation of the two, and there was no doubt he was passionate about his work here, but Jab had been staying with him for the better part of the week and he wouldn't exactly have called it an academic experience. "Uh huh. So what do you call kicking the butts of any poachers dumb enough to get in your way?"

The Orca smiled serenely. "Extra credit."


	22. Nice Eyes

**Characters:** Lena, Michael  
**Prompt:** #70 Storm  
**Word Count:** 500  
**Rating:** G  
**Summary:** Not all eventualities need to be prepared for. Lena's love life is one such thing.  
**Author's Note:** Slight Lena/Michael

There wasn't quite a spring in her step, but Lena's walk might have had a little more bounce to it than usual. Maybe it was silly; after all, she and Michael weren't always working on the same side even if he didn't know it. The police had a standing order to capture the Sharks where possible, and Michael was a good cop. He'd follow the command even if his own feelings weren't one hundred percent sure and let the bureaucracy figure it out later.

But he'd said she had nice eyes.

She'd agreed to his lunch invitation because she'd thought she might learn something; his real opinion on the sharks, the movements of the police, any of Paradigm's plans behind the scene that only officials might be privy to. Instead he'd complimented her, charmed her, keeping her entirely off balance for the whole encounter and several times almost making her let slip something she shouldn't. Maybe he suspected her involvement, but his smile had been friendly and disarming.

And he'd said she had nice eyes.

It wouldn't be smart to hang all her opinions on that one little statement, but for some reason she couldn't get it out of her mind. It wasn't like she needed the praise. Her confidence didn't suffer, and she'd never been worried about the way she looked, but hearing it was…pleasant. Unusual, but it gave her a bubbly feeling that made her reflect on the time between high school and now where she'd stopped dating. Too busy, and not enough interest, but now opportunity was staring her in the face and she wondered.

It was even more complicated now. Michael could be a security risk or a useful contact-

She shook her head briskly to dispel that line of thought. It shouldn't be like that. She was still thinking in terms of battles and allies and enemies. What she should be thinking of is, did she even like him? The conversation at lunch had flowed easily despite her pleased fluster, and his warm interest had been unexpected but not overwhelming. He'd sat close, but not too close, and she'd had plenty of time to notice that he wasn't a bad looking man even with a small shaving nick on his neck and the beginnings of dark circles that suggested his cases were a bit more taxing than usual.

Come to think of it, his eyes were pretty nice too.

Lena didn't even realise she was smiling until the first droplets of rain splashed against her face. She blinked, glancing upward, but those few droplets were the only warning as the skies abruptly decided that threatening clouds simply weren't enough. Rain spilled down so suddenly it took her by surprise, soaking her in moments and sending a few other unlucky pedestrians scuttling into buildings with muttered curses. It had been overcast all day, but her umbrella was still nestled in the coat rack at home. Some things were just easier to deal with when they happened.


End file.
